Perhaps the very definition of ironic: the first I heard about the death of an iconic Liverpool star was from two girls trying to make it big in Liverpool fifty years later.
We are very sad to hear of Cilla Black's passing today. May her music live on! https://t.co/cit3WfGTds #rip
— MonaLisa Twins (@MonaLisa_Twins) August 2, 2015
It was just last year that I got around to writing about Cilla Black (born Priscilla White in 1943), one of few entertainers anywhere who sustained a career for half a century without stirring up any tabloid stories. I admit that I was not overly fond of her first record, a Lennon-McCartney number called “Love of the Loved”, but her take on “Anyone Who Had a Heart” hit the top of the British charts:
She followed with a second Number One, “You’re My World,” which even won me over.
From her obituary in the Telegraph:
“I didn’t choose television. Television chose me,” she said. “I was a bit of fun and a bit of Scouse rough and everybody liked me, I was normal. I could have been the kid next door. And then I turned into the auntie next door. And now I’m the granny next door.”
This is about as far as she ever wanted to go:
“Seventy-five is a good age to go if things start to drop off,” she said. “I don’t want to linger. I don’t want to be a burden on anybody. I know 75 is only four years away, but I take each day as I find it.”
And if things dropped off just a little early, well, you know she smiled as she watched them go.